


Song of the Waves

by Argent_the_Gay



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Again, Aine Is Stressed, Aine paints in this, Attempted Suicide, I wanted to kill him but the prompt I was using wouldn't let me, Oh look, Suicidal Thoughts, and he sings, another aine fic, but what's new, he doesn't die this time, it's for the prompt, it's might as well be, with me trying to kill him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 10:59:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15839865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argent_the_Gay/pseuds/Argent_the_Gay
Summary: A Legit Summary:Aine Kisaragi had a dream, every since he was a kid. He was going to sing his praises to the waves for the world, literally. He manages this, but only for so long before they get washed away.More Accurate Summary:Argent writes more Aine angst using an instagram prompt because he was doing this originally to compare writing styles with his friend. This is the result.





	Song of the Waves

Aine Kisaragi stood by the edge of the cliff, young and reckless. He always did this. His uncle could never stop him from doing so, but the expression Aine wore every time he went to the cliffs was one he couldn’t bare to steal from the young heart. The boy was at peace; at least as peaceful as a seven year old with constant fire in his eyes could be.

“I’m going to become an idol.” He said that night, looking his uncle in the eyes. “I’m going to write about the waves. Sing for them. Just as they’ve sung for me.” And his uncle couldn’t stop him.

 

At age twelve, Aine began to paint. It was a hobby, mostly. He enjoyed turning his thoughts into words for others to hear, but he wanted to bring the images he described to life as well, and what better image to paint than what sparked the fire in his heart ever since he was a child?

Professor Kisaragi’s lab became littered over the years with Aine’s sketches and paintings of the waves. The tides crawling onto shore, the crashing of water onto the same cliffs Aine enjoyed sitting on. Occasionally Aine would paint himself onto the cliffs or into the water, to become one with what he loved so wholeheartedly.

He still couldn’t stop Aine from approaching the edge, growing ever closer.

 

Paintings were still a major part of Aine Kisaragi’s life, even as he entered his twenties. He was a debuted idol now, and yet the life he dreamed of - of songs of waves, tempting him into the ocean - was anything but what he came face to face with.

Painting was how he kept his sanity, kept himself away from being swept beneath the tides. So much stress to be perfect for the camera, to keep a facade of who he truly was, to _hide_. He hid so much. He hid his pain, how much he wanted it to stop. He hid it all beneath a stunning smile and smooth sarcasm that even Reiji didn’t catch onto.

And yet even then, he found enjoyment in the suffering. An odd sort of masochism as he sang until his voice went hoarse. He continued to write about the waves he watched as a child, through his teen years. He didn’t get to sing those songs anymore. He didn’t get to release the tension of how much he wanted the tides to claim him.

“ _Dreams of water rising, rising, claiming all of me, until my soul is cleansed of the darkness that came from the tide’s very depths_ ,” Aine would sing to himself, allowing the first of the tears he had thought were dry to flow once more. No one saw him in these times. He wouldn’t let them see him fall, shattering against the floor. His body was glass and his soul was the fire that burned within; so badly he wanted the ocean to slip through and extinguish it-

“Kisaragi-san?”

 

It was growing harder, as the years past, for Aine to hide his pain. So often he craved for Reiji’s embrace, the one constant that chased away the stress, the fears, the _thoughts_ . Aine knew, deep down, that Reiji could feel his sorrow, how much he wanted _out_ , to be set free. Reiji didn’t know how to do that though. He couldn’t. Aine had thought himself so deep into this hole that there was no possible ladder that was long enough for him to get out.

He could only be freed through the coward’s way out, just as he was.

 

Summer.

Aine missed being so close to the ocean. He remembered how often he wanted the waves to claim him, back when he was in the city, forced to tour from place to place. He sneered.

Shining Saotome was a hard-ass when it came to work, so long ago it had been since he had a proper vacation. Aine hadn’t seen his uncle in years, save for the rare visits he could manage between each of their schedules, and yet that wasn’t enough to mute the thoughts. Reiji wasn’t allowed the luxury he had been given, and not having that supporting pillar was weighing even more heavily on Aine’s mind.

Painting, he decided. He would paint. He had access to a larger canvas now and more diverse paints. He would portrait the sea, the water and foam that danced beneath his favorite cliff. He set up, perhaps closer than he should have, but perhaps it would offer a proper end to him. An accident. It was how he would remove the guilt when his spirit finally passed on.

It was, of course, easy for Aine to slip back into the flow of capturing his prized image, always different in every scene he witnesses it. The setting sun added beautiful contrast to the navy blue of the water, the clouds hovered so close and yet so far away.

Then, his foot slipped against the wet grass. _Finally_. He let the brush slip from his hand, landing safely on the ground as he plummeted to the rocky depths.

“Oh no,” he heard, “we cannot destroy something that has loved us so beautifully.”

Aine wanted to scream. He had been denied his release once more. “Why,” he choked, a whimper escaping him.

“You do not need to leave this world to escape the pain, please, continue to show the world your love for us.” It was a request, and yet Aine’s world still went dark.

He could not sing, but perhaps, when he woke, he could continue to paint. If not for himself, than for the waves that had sung to him for all these years.


End file.
